


Smile

by lutece



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Pre-A Game of Thrones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 14:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutece/pseuds/lutece
Summary: Drabble prompt from tumblr: "smile" + any ship.





	Smile

Rhaegar’s hair blended into the surrounding snow. It glowed an even brighter white when it fell against his blood-red cape and covered it. He had followed her to this begotten grove at the back of Winterfell’s woods and apparently stumbled across her treasures—the forgotten trinkets of squires hidden under rocks. Unbeknownst to the prince, Benjen had once told her that she could fight, as long as it was secret.

And she did, in the woods, slashing the air, until she grew such a skill for it that she went undercover at a joust and won. It was a secret she’d take to the grave.

The tall, silver-headed Targaryen was an unusual warmth and change of pace to her life: his violet eyes on her, forever soft and impartial, weren’t unwelcome.

“When I asked of your brothers,” Rhaegar told her, watching her rifle through anything from small daggers to arrowheads she’d kept buried, “they said you only smile when you have won something. Yet I caught your smile at the song from my harp… before the tears. That would mean I had won.”

Lyanna snorted: it was not inward or ladylike or restrained. It must have been the wolf baring its teeth from inside her – since he was a dragon, he only smiled himself.

“So catch this too,” she announced, and he almost missed a polished steel sword passed in his direction.

His fingers closed around the handle and tested the weight a little reluctantly. He did not like killing, never mind the simple act of sparring. His hands were only calloused because he played his instruments with such vigour, and gripped his quills tightly. Funny, he thought, that he should be the gentle one and she the fighter; this hot-blooded temper surely kept the Starks warm in their northern homes.

She must have realised she’d forgotten her place. Lyanna looked shy as she circled the blade of her own sword—well, a weapon surely swiped from her father’s armoury—into the thinner snow on the ground.

“If—you would like to duel, my prince?” she asked. The politeness suited her oddly; he decided she was better wild. She had initially stood out because of that brisk hair, and her constantly sour expression. There was something beautiful about her venom towards anything and everything.

Rhaegar dipped his head politely. Princely. “I shall be honoured—for a small price.”

Her thick eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Then name it,” she announced again, and jabbed her sword forward in a practicing motion.

“If you would smile again for me,” he said. “Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The girl-child smiled with sharp teeth and it bit into his heart. And she still wore the blue-rose garland at her crown.


End file.
